


I'm Looking for a Place to Land

by jacyevans



Series: A Better Place Since We Came Along [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Background Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Hale Family Feels, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Minor Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski are Roommates, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans/pseuds/jacyevans
Summary: Derek has only had two real relationships since Kate and none with guys. Just one night stands or short flings masquerading as relationships.“You’re doing just fine, big guy,” Stiles says. Derek groans while he laughs into his mouth.--Stiles and Derek try to figure out what being alpha and emissary mean for their pack, while also navigating a budding relationship. When Cora moves back to New York with her girlfriend, Derek's past comes back to bite him in the ass - Lydia's best friend turns out to be Allison Argent, and Stiles' father takes a job as the new sheriff of Beacon Hills.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **NOTE:** I can't believe I have to say this, but please DO NOT REPOST any of my fic to Wattpad or Goodreads. I do not give permission, even with credit to me.
> 
> \--
> 
> Hello world! Here is the first chapter of the "You Can Stay" sequel! I wanted to start working before finals kick in and sap all of the creative energy out of my brain.
> 
> Title from [“Birds Hover the Trampled Field”](http://daphnesayshi.tumblr.com/post/145511943202/birds-hover-the-trampled-field-richard-siken) by Richard Siken, which fits Derek in this fic to a T.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely brain twin, aka dream-mancer, for the beta! <3

Derek raises his face to the sky, inhaling the cold, New York air. 

“It’s going to snow soon,” Cora says, stealing his hot chocolate from his hand and lifting it to her mouth.

Derek takes back his cup and ignores her grin. “Good.” It’s almost February and New York has barely seen an inch of snow. He’s ready for a good blizzard. He frowns, lowering his cup. “Wait, how soon?”

Cora rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, alpha, it shouldn’t be until after your precious emissary gets home.”

Derek grumbles into his cup. Two days after he asked Stiles to be his emissary, he was off with Scott on a flight to Oregon for Christmas, where he would stay for the remainder of his winter break. Derek almost booked a flight out for New Years, but Stiles would be at Deucalion’s, and Derek’s pack and all of their families would still be in the building - literally. Scott and Stiles graciously allowed the use of their apartment, so Kira and Boyd’s families had a place to stay. So, he satisfied himself with a Skype call at midnight. They spoke almost every day he was gone - well, Stiles did most of the talking, while he listened and made noises to show he was paying attention. It wasn’t the same though as having him here, especially when they had so little time together after that night in the park.

Cora nudges his shoulder with her own. “You really miss him, huh?”

“Yes,” Derek says; he nudges her back. “What about you and Lydia?”

“She’ll be here in a couple of weeks. She and her roommate need to finalize some things with their landlord.” Cora shakes her head. “But this is about you and your love life, not me and mine.”

Derek spits his hot chocolate all over his jacket. Cora jumps out of the way, cackling.

He wipes at the mess with a napkin. “He’s my emissary, not my boyfriend.”

“That could be easily remedied.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

He sighs, “Cora.” She’s been at this for weeks, poking at him to ask Stiles on a date, or just have sex. He can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed his mind. He was able to curb most of his attraction to Stiles, even after asking him to be his emissary. 

Then, Stiles left, and all Derek can think about is how much he misses the scent and the heat of him, the sound of his laughter and his heartbeat. After the Boyds and Yukimuras left, he volunteered to clean up the apartment, a thinly-veiled excuse to sit in Stiles’ room and inhale his scent. His pack saw right through him, of course, especially since there’s been an unspoken rule of _your family, your mess_ since Boyd’s cousin, Malia’s father, and the Christmas Food Fight of ‘15. 

“Hey,” Cora says, dragging him from his thoughts. “I’m teasing. I just want you to be happy.”

“I don’t want him to think the only reason I asked him to be my emissary is so I could get in his pants.”

Cora drinks the rest of his hot chocolate and chucks the cup in the trash. “Trust me, Der. Stiles doesn’t care if you want to get in his pants. I’m pretty sure he would give you an engraved invitation if you asked. _You are cordially invited to a party in my pants._ ”

“Oh god, don’t give him any ideas,” Derek groans, poking Cora in the side when she laughs.

The day Stiles is due back, the sky turns the bright grey that signals an oncoming blizzard. Derek prays to the gods as he gets into the car to hold out, just a little longer. He speeds down the highway to the airport, glad he decided to leave before rush hour traffic. JFK is only ten minutes down the expressway, but it feels like hours between when he parks his car and goes to wait at baggage claim.

He hears Stiles’ heartbeat before he sees him coming around the corner, dragging his suitcase. His heart speeds up when he sees Derek, grin breaking like the sun across his face.

“Hey, Alpha,” Stiles says, and Derek ignores the flutter that one word sends through his stomach. The shifter pair standing at the baggage carousel glance his way, one smirking, the other giggling behind her hand.

Derek plucks the bag from his hand and Stiles’ brow furrows before Derek gets his arms around his back. He presses his face into Stiles’ neck, muscles relaxing the way they haven’t since Derek watched Stiles’ plane take off into the sky. He smells like fir trees and juniper, the woodsy lemon-balm scent of John and Melissa, and a sharp pack scent of spearmint and ginger that must belong to Deucalion.

Stiles huffs, hugging him back just as tightly. “Missed you, too, big guy.”

Scott clears his throat. “Uh, dude? I hate to interrupt, but you’re blocking the door.”

Derek pulls away, stepping to the side to allow the shifter couple to pass. He ducks his head to hide the flush on his cheeks.

“There are two dozen doors in this place, they have to use this one?” Stiles asks; Derek silently agrees.

“Did you see the size of their suitcases?”

“Oh, whatever.” He picks up his own suitcase, setting the wheels on the ground. “Where’s your car? I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Derek drawls, offering his hand to Scott. The two of them are still on shaky terms; so were he and Melissa and John, if the phone call threatening to beat him to death with a shovel if he breaks Stiles’ heart again was anything to go by. He didn’t hear at all from Deucalion or any of his brood. Derek still can’t decide whether or not that should worry him.

Scott takes the hand offered, following Stiles out the door. Derek leads them to the car, shoving their suitcases in the trunk. 

The first flurries of snow drop from the sky as they head home. Stiles chatters from the front seat, he and Scott arguing over some video game and whether or not someone named Liam totally kicked Stiles’ ass.

By the time they find a parking spot, the snow falls steadily and a dusting of white sticks to the ground.

“Snow,” Stiles says mournfully, looking up at the sky. A snowflake lands on his face, and he bats at the tip of his nose.

“We’ve barely gotten an inch all winter,” Derek says, unlocking the doors and allowing Stiles and Scott to enter first. He holds the door open on the elevator.

“Awww, it’s working for once. I was almost looking forward to dragging my heavy bags up the stairs.” Derek rolls his eyes, pressing the buttons for the fifth and sixth floors. “And you haven’t spent the last three weeks in the mountains. It snowed the entire time we were there. I almost froze my dick off.”

“That would be a shame,” Derek says as they reach the fifth floor. Stiles stumbles on his way out of the elevator and turns, mouth gaping. 

Scott cracks up when Stiles manages to splutter out, “Dude! Not cool!”

"Don't call me dude," Derek says and grins as the doors shut.

* * *

Scott’s still cackling long after the elevator departs. Stiles slaps him on the shoulder, stomping off to their apartment.

“No, don’t worry,” Scott says, wiping the tears from his eyes, “I’ll get the bags.”

“Serves you damn right.” Stiles turns the key in the lock with a flourish, shoving the door open.

Scott drags the suitcases into the hallway, dropping his backpack next to the table. “What’s the matter? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?” Scott puckers his mouth and smacks his lips together making loud, obnoxious kissing noises.

Stiles shoves him back out the door. “Whatever, asshole. Let’s get upstairs before all of the food is gone.”

“Food,” Scott says, still grinning, “Right.”

Stiles ignores him in favor of heading up the stairs. The loud, raucous voices of his pack echo down the hall, and he sighs.

 _His_ pack. Warmth settles in Stiles’ chest as he focuses on the bright, wondrous spots of light at the back of his mind, the way he has every day since leaving New York. Deucalion smiled the moment Stiles entered the pack house, congratulating him on finally finding a pack. Stiles’ heart fluttered, reaching for each of those shining bonds in turn. Scott poked at him for being sappy, but his smile was just as fond the moment Stiles mentioned Isaac. 

Stiles jumps as the door to the loft swings open. Kira and Erica squeal, jumping on top of him and tackling him to the floor. Erica twists just in time to take most of the weight, but he still wheezes, winded.

“Hi,” he squeaks; Scott steps over them, no doubt in search of Isaac. “Kira, you’re crushing my ribs.”

“Sorry!” She jumps up, giving Erica more room to wrap her arms around his waist and shove her cold nose into his neck.

“You don’t smell right,” she mutters; he yelps when she licks his neck. “Better.”

“Must you do that?!” Erica rumbles happily, squeezing him tighter when he attempts to get up. “Boyd! Your girlfriend is molesting me!”

“What exactly do you want me to do about it?” he deadpans, and Stiles groans, thumping his head back against the floor and submitting himself to the overbearing snuggles.

Erica scrubs her cheek against his hair before jumping to her feet. She grips Stiles’ hand and yanks him up.

“All better,” she says, flattening what must be spectacular crazy hair. Stiles glares and she darts forwards to press a kiss to his cheek. She saunters into the kitchen and comes out with two plates full of sauteed vegetables, roasted chicken, and rosemary potatoes. Stiles’ mouth waters. 

She hands one off, and Stiles shovels a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. He moans at the taste. Erica looks on, smirk plastered on her face.

“I take it back,” he says, pointing at her with a drumstick. “You’re my favorite.”

“I know,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“I thought I was your favorite,” Cora says, pouting, eyes devious.

Stiles snorts, choking on his food. Cora grins. He swallows. “Sure, when you’re not threatening me with bodily harm.”

She laughs, dropping her arm around his shoulders as Stiles follows her into the living room. Boyd slaps him on the back of the shoulder before moving to sit in the chair in the corner, where Erica perches on the arm. Isaac doesn’t get up from where he’s draped over Scott’s back, but he does brush his hand over Stiles’ calf.

Cora only releases him when he sits down. Malia drapes herself over his lap and makes a show of rubbing her back all over his legs, and Stiles realizes, with a jolt, that the pack is scent marking him. He takes a discreet sniff of his shirt and gets a faint whiff of Erica’s perfume and Malia’s detergent, mixing with the scent of pine still clinging to all of his clothing. For only the second time in his life, he wishes that he was a werewolf so he could smell what they smell, his old pack overlaid by the stronger smell of the new, mirroring the way he sees them in his head. He’ll never have a bond with Deucalion’s pack, but his connection with them will never be broken. 

Derek understands that; he’s always been one of the few that does.

“You okay?” he mutters as Stiles reels like he’s been slapped with a wrecking ball.

Stiles shakes his head and smiles. “Yeah. Just happy to be home.”

Derek nudges him to the side and moves a little closer, pressed against him from shoulder to knee.

They spend the rest of the night watching movies, throwing popcorn at the screen every time Derek’s Netflix queue suggests a documentary. Several beers and wolfsbane brews in, Stiles and Cora get into their heads to build an actual pillow fort, and while Derek rolls his eyes, he still drags out every spare blanket and pillow from their linen closet, helping them drape sheets across chairs and various pieces of furniture until the fort spans the length of the room. 

Kira strings up a set of Christmas lights, pressing her fingers to one of the bulbs and washing their little fort with a soft glow. He crawls under the blankets between Erica and Scott, cozy and warm and more relaxed than he remembers being since he left New York three weeks ago.

The next morning dawns with the sort of bright light that only sun glancing off of snow could bring. He cracks one eye open. Half of the fort has been brought down, revealing one of the large windows, and the sheet of white blowing past the fire escape. 

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut with a groan. He yelps when someone jumps onto his stomach, bringing his knees up to protect his fragile, human ribs.

“Sorry!” Kira scrambles to the side, grinning when he glares. “It's snowing, Stiles!”

“Good for the snow,” he grumbles, rolling over and dragging a blanket over his head. Kira sticks her head under the corner.

“But Stiiiiiles,” she whines, poking at his cheek. “You need to come outside and play with us!”

“No.” He waves his hand in the general direction of her face. “Go away.”

Kira huffs, wriggling out from under the blanket. A moment later, Derek takes her place.

Stiles screws his eyes shut again. “No. The answer is no. There is nothing you can say that will make me abandon my nice, warm bedroll to go play with your puppies in the snow.”

“Come outside or I’m carrying you out.”

Stiles whines, curling into a tighter ball. “No.”

“In your underwear.”

“Oh baby,” Stiles halfheartedly mutters. Derek yanks away his pillow and his blanket all in one go, and Stiles pounds his hand against the floor, kicking his feet. “Dereeeeeek!”

“Get up and put some pants on.”

Stiles kicks his feet one more time then settles with his arms and legs splayed flat against the floor. A cold draft blows across his skin making him shudder. He folds his arms. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek shouts back as he heads towards the front of the apartment.

* * *

Stiles gets to his feet, yanking on his jeans and jamming his feet into his shoes, grumbling the whole way about asshole alphas who don’t understand the holy sacredness that is the last day of winter vacation. Derek smiles while he waits outside of the apartment for him to finish getting dressed, shaking his head when Erica shouts across the apartment at Isaac for stealing her favorite hat. The pack hasn’t felt whole with Stiles gone, Derek feeling out his bond with his emissary and the weaker but no less important bond with Scott in a desperate bid to reassure himself of their existence. Last night was his first full night’s rest in weeks.

The pack files out, Isaac pouting while Erica ruffles his hair, having retrieved custody of the orange and green monstrosity she dares to call a beanie. 

Stiles clomps out the door behind them, slipping into his coat with a glower. “You suck. You suck _so_ hard.”

“Not yet, but if you ask nicely he might.” Malia snickers, darting down the hall when Derek swipes at her shoulder.

He glances at Stiles, whose face blushes bright red; Derek wonders just how far down that flush goes.

Still, Stiles winks. “So, wanna spank my monkey?”

“That’s not asking nicely,” he says, grinning to himself when Stiles flails, tripping over his own two feet. The elevator is out of order - no surprise - the cables frozen and refusing to move. He doubts they’ll get moving again until the snow stops. He and Cora were up early this morning, knocking on doors, making sure everyone was surviving the storm. The Marshalls are out of milk; Dr. Greenbaum’s radiator is broken. Derek gave him a couple of space heaters and promised someone would be there to check in the afternoon.

Derek ducks when Cora lobs a snowball at his head as soon as they exit the building; she smacks Stiles square in the face.

Cora freezes as Stiles wipes a hand down his nose. His eyes narrow. The pack scatters.

“This. Means. War,” he says, gathering up a handful of snow and launching himself across the snowbanks, turning the courtyard into a battleground of snowballs and ice dripped down coat collars. The game only pauses when Melinda comes streaking out the back door, toddling on her little legs as she waddles through the already trampled snow. Her father follows, standing back against the outer wall.

“I’m staying out of the line of fire,” he says, and Derek chuckles.

“Smart man.”

“Snow, Daddy! Snooooooow!” Melinda screeches when Isaac scoops her up, seating her on his shoulders. He wipes off one of the swings, packing the loose snow into a ball. 

“Get Scott,” Isaac whispers, handing Melinda the snowball, which she lobs a whole two feet away with unholy glee. Scott ducks, eyes wide with faked surprise when Melinda catches him in the leg. 

“I’m going to get you!” He shouts, fingers twitching as he chases a fleeing Isaac. Boyd cuts Isaac off, “rescuing” Melinda when Scott tackles Isaac into the snow. Melinda shrieks with joy.

Stiles sidles up to Derek, a blue ball of flame tucked safely between his palms.

“Cold?” Derek asks, and Stiles glares, starting to give him the finger, stopping when the movement almost extinguishes his flame.

“Try glacial,” Stiles says, in the typical over-dramatized, Stiles-like way that makes Derek fight back a grin. “I think I’m going to head inside.”

“Party pooper!” Malia shouts, scuffing snow into Scott’s hair.

“Yeah, party pooper!” Melinda’s tiny voice rings out, and Stiles closes his hand into a fist, biting his knuckles to keep from laughing. His smile falls when his flame goes out.

“Melinda,” Mr. Marshall warns, tossing an aggrieved glance at Malia, who ducks her head with a wince.

“Some of us haven’t been blessed with a high core temperature!” Stiles squawks back, and Derek rolls his eyes to the _moon._ Then, Stiles shudders, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.

“I’m taking Stiles inside,” Derek says, and while Scott holds his thumb up, the rest of the pack is too busy entertaining a giddy Melinda to notice.

“I am perfectly capable of walking up the stairs by myself, you know,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t pull away when Derek rests his hand against his lower back. 

“Are you sure? Because I for one have seen you trip up these stairs when they aren’t slippery and wet from the snow.”

“You know what else is slippery when wet?” He asks and trips up the final stair to Derek’s apartment. 

Derek sighs, yanking him up by the back of his coat. “You’ve just proven my point. And you’re ridiculous.”

Stiles holds out his hand for Derek’s key and flicks open the lock. “Hey, you asked me to be your emissary. What does that say about you?”

“That I need professional help.”

Stiles shoves him in the shoulder, heading into the living room. He stands in front of the window, sliding out of his wet clothes, pulling a disgusted face when his wet coat hits the floor with a _splat._ There’s snow in his hair and his nose is red, and heat pools in Derek’s belly, thawing him from the inside out.

He walks across the room, waiting for Stiles to disentangle himself from his scarf before gently gripping his wrist.

“What?” Stiles asks, and Derek leans down and kisses him on the mouth. Stiles freezes. 

Derek starts to pull back, sure he’s read the signs wrong, that Stiles is going to haul back and punch him in the face.

“I’m--” _sorry,_ he starts to say, before Stiles lurches forwards, dragging their mouths back together. Derek wraps a hand around the nape of Stiles’ neck, the other clutching at his hip, fingers digging in when Stiles bites his bottom lip until his mouth drops open. He drags his nails through Derek’s hair, and Derek shudders.

Stiles presses their foreheads together, breathing against each other’s mouths. Stiles tastes like lightning in a summer storm, the scent of electric power and wet earth. 

He smells like home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter betaed by the lovely dream-mancer, who I love and adore.

To say the pack is thrilled at the current turn of events would be an understatement.

Derek is so busy trying to bite the world’s biggest hickey into Stiles’ neck that neither of them hear everyone come into the apartment. Which is an accomplishment; they’re not exactly quiet or light-footed.

 _“Yes!”_ Kira cheers, which startles Stiles enough that he flails his legs, sending them both tumbling onto the floor. 

She holds out her hand, palm up. “Pay up bitches.”

Everyone groans, tugging money from pockets and wallets and handing it over.

“Dude, bro foul,” Scott complains, slapping a crisp twenty-dollar bill into Kira’s waiting palm. “You couldn’t hold out another two days?”

 _“What?”_ Stiles stands, catching his pants when they almost fall down his legs. Ears burning, he turns towards the wall, doing up his fly before turning back around.

“You bet on us,” Derek says flatly.

Erica scoffs, waving a twenty at Kira, who snatches it out of the air with a beaming smile. “Please. The only ones who didn’t think you would be together are you two.”

“You are awful human beings,” Stiles says, scowling.

Erica blows him a kiss. “Blow me.”

“Later.”

Derek growls, taking one step in front of Stiles. Erica laughs and laughs.

“‘S okay, big guy. I only have eyes for you.” Stiles flutters his eyelashes, patting him on the shoulder. Derek’s face twists into a fond smile.

“Awwww,” Kira and Scott intone, while Boyd and Malia wretch behind their backs.

Two days later, with a completely straight face, Stiles gives Derek an engraved invitation cordially inviting him to a party in his pants. There are tiny hearts dotting the tops of the i’s.

Stiles cackles when Derek tackles him to the couch, rolling until Stiles is on top, grinding his hips down. Derek grips the belt loops of his jeans, halting his movements.

“What is it?” Stiles asks. Derek twists his fingers into Stiles’ shirt, eyes downcast and more vulnerable than Stiles has ever seen the alpha before, more even than when he spoke about his family. Fear pulses down their bond, with an undercurrent of anxiety that twists Stiles’ stomach into knots.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” Derek whispers, and Stiles’ brow furrows. “Every relationship I’ve ever had ended badly.” He finally glances up, and the raw sadness in his eyes breaks Stiles’ heart. “I’m terrified this one will, too.”

“Derek, I know what happened with Kate was -- awful.” Understatement of the century.

“It’s not just Kate.” Derek shakes his head. “I’ve only had two relationships since Kate. None with guys.” His lips twist into a bitter smile. “Just one night stands or short flings I convinced myself were relationships.” Stiles starts to stand, but Derek grips tightly at his shirt, tugging him back down. He lies down on top of Derek, brushes his fingers through Derek’s hair when he lets out a relieved breath. 

“Tell me?” Stiles asks, and Derek sighs.

“Before Kate, there was a girl. Paige. The first person I ever loved. We were together almost a year when she asked my mother for the bite. My mother said not until she was eighteen. So she found an alpha who said yes.” Derek swallows, and a chill goes up Stiles’ spine. “The bite didn’t take. She was barely able to make it back to Beacon Hills before she died in my arms.”

Stiles doesn’t apologize or offer any platitudes that Derek will not appreciate. He simply drops a kiss to Derek’s brow.

Derek trails a finger across Stiles’ jaw, as if to reassure himself Stiles is still there. “I met Rebecca in college. She was the first person I let myself care for after Kate.”

He swallows hard, hand shaking where his fingers grip Stiles' hip. “Things ended badly the moment she found out I was a werewolf. She didn’t -- want to date a monster.”

Stiles’ hands clench into fists, wanting to rip this mystery woman apart. He ducks his head, pressing a fierce, bruising kiss to Derek’s lips, laying his hand over Derek’s heart. “You’re not a monster, Derek.”

“I know,” he says, and his heartbeat doesn’t skip under Stiles’ fingers.

“That’s one relationship. What about the other?”

“Braeden,” he says, and the fond smile on his lips that would make Stiles worry in any other circumstances warms him through. “We met a couple of months after Laura died. I just bit Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, and I had no idea what I was doing.” 

Stiles nods; he’s heard all about the scare tactics - throwing them into walls during training sessions, spiked headgear on full moons, and the chains locking them in a reinforced, soundproofed room in the basement. 

“Erica and Boyd ran off,” Derek says, and Stiles frowns.

“I didn’t know that.”

“They were gone for six months. Made it as far as Buffalo. Almost joined another pack up there.

“Braeden didn’t put up with my shit,” he says, and Stiles huffs a laugh, kissing his pouting mouth. “She helped piece me back together. Came with me to talk to Erica and Boyd, arranged meetings with the other alpha to remind me how to lead a pack when I’m not running for my life. To let my guard down - the way my mother used to.”

Derek glances across the room, at the photo of the pack sitting on the windowsill. “I don’t think I would still have a pack if it wasn’t for her.”

“I’d like to meet her sometime,” Stiles says; if it wasn’t for this stranger, he wouldn’t have a pack, either. “What happened to her?”

“She’s a mercenary.”

“Of course she is,” Stiles mutters.

Derek rolls his eyes. “She wasn’t ready to settle down. We still get together when she’s in New York.”

“Well, I’m hoping there’s less sex this time around.” Possession wells up in his chest, a hot, slithering thing. Derek smirks, no doubt scenting the emotion in the air. Stiles ducks down to nip at the edge of his jaw.

“Almost as bad as you,” Stiles whispers, and Derek laughs. He rests his chin against Derek’s sternum. “That doesn’t sound like it ended badly. It just -- ended.” 

“It’s just been a long time. And things were different between me and Braeden. I knew it would never be permanent. This -- I don’t-- know how to do _this.”_

“Look, it's been a while for me, too, okay?” His last relationship was during undergrad and lasted all of a year. Caitlin was sweet, and a witch to boot, but in the end, she couldn’t handle what it meant, being the girlfriend of an emissary. That she would never be his first priority. 

Things ended with resentment, from both parties. There was a reason most emissaries were also romantic partners to the alpha or one of their betas.

“We’ll figure this out. Both of us.” He cards a hand through Derek’s hair, heart clenching when Derek leans in like he’s starved for the touch. “You’re doing just fine, big guy.” 

Derek groans while Stiles laughs into his mouth.

* * *

The problem with snow starting this late in the year is that the snow falls well into March, leaving New Yorkers across the city cursing everything from the transit delays to the freezing cold and the dirty snow splashing onto their boots. 

Derek, on the other hand, can’t share in their resentment (unless he’s on the subway, or god forbid, a bus. Then, his annoyance is perfectly justified, thank you very much.) 

After his conversation with Stiles, Derek feels freer than he has in -- he doesn’t even know. Probably since before the fire. 

He’s so deep in thought that he collides with someone on the sidewalk. The other person lets out a little _oomph_ of surprise and almost falls over. Derek shoots out a hand, grips their arm, and hauls them back up.

“Nice reflexes,” the woman says. She shakes out her hair, straightening the hat on her head. “Sorry about that. I should have been looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, and she shoots him a sunny smile. She glances down at her phone with a frown. There’s something hauntingly familiar about her face, something Derek can’t quite place.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where this building is, do you? I just moved in around the corner, and Google Maps has failed me.”

Derek smirks, but he glances down at the address on her phone and points in the direction she’d been walking. “You’re not far off. Walk two blocks this way.”

“And they say New Yorkers aren’t helpful,” she says slyly, hitches her bag onto her shoulder, and sets off. “Thanks!”

Derek gives her a half-hearted wave, burying his hands in his pockets. He heads back into the building, starting a mental grocery list. His brow furrows as he exits the elevator and the sounds of a muffled whining cry reach his ears. Worry settles in the pit of his stomach. He unlocks the door to the loft, and the sound grows to a fever pitch.

Kira and Boyd are crowded around a box on the floor of the living room, where an orange and white cat sits, meowing plaintively, green eyes wide.

“We found him wandering around the lobby this morning,” Kira says when she catches Derek peering down at the box. “Can we keep him?”

“No.” Kira’s pout intensifies, and he sighs. “Cats aren’t really fond of werewolves,“ he says as the cat topples the box, immediately wending its way around Derek’s feet. Cautiously, Derek crouches down. The cat steps onto his arm, curls up against his chest, and stops screaming, purring up a storm.

“Well, this one does,” Boyd says with a smirk. Derek stares down at the cat. The cat bats at a frayed thread on the seam of his coat.

Derek sighs and adds _cat food_ to his grocery list. 

He knows he’s fighting a losing battle when Isaac and Scott start cooing over the cat, letting him crawl all over their laps.

He flushes as a grin slides across Stiles’ face, like he’s reading Derek’s thoughts. “What?”

“You big softie,” Stiles teases, ignoring Isaac’s disgusted face and kissing Derek on the cheek. 

Scott averts his eyes and stands up from the floor, grabbing his bag. “I’m gonna head downstairs. I have a ton of homework to do.”

“I’ll come with,” Isaac says, hefting his gangly limbs off of the floor. He deposits the cat in Stiles' lap as he follows Scott out.

* * *

Stiles watches Scott and Isaac leave with a frown. Since getting together with Derek, Scott has been more distant, making himself scarce when Derek comes down to the apartment, finding excuses to get out of pack dinners. At first, Stiles thought Scott was just busy or offering them privacy, maybe even a little jealous that Derek is monopolizing Stiles’ attention, but now he’s not so sure. He scratches his fingers idly through the cat’s fur, lost in thoughts of his best friend.

The next day, Stiles orders enough Hawaiian pizza to last them through the weekend, buys a six-pack of the wolfsbane brew Scott likes, and queues up a Marvel marathon on Netflix. When Scott gets home from his classes, Stiles hustles him to the couch, flinging himself across Scott's lap.

“You okay there, buddy?” Scott asks, while Stiles makes himself more comfortable.

He shimmies until he's draped over the cushions, legs in Scott's lap. “I’m wolfnapping you. We haven’t had any quality bro time in _ages.”_

"I thought you were supposed to be shoring up the wards around the building this weekend."

Stiles holds up a finger. "Au contraire, mon frere. While you were busy sticking thermometers in doggie butts, I was here making myself useful."

"That's a first," Scott says with a grin. He ducks when Stiles throws a pillow at his face.

"Dick. My point is, the wards are finished, I'm free until Monday, and I want some quality snuggle time with my favorite werewolf. So snuggle me, bitch."

"How can I resist when you ask so politely," Scott says dryly, but he drops his arm over Stiles' shoulders, tugging him into his side.

They spend the weekend gorging themselves on popcorn, leftover pizza, and beer, arguing over whether Iron Man or Batman would win in a fight to the death, or if they would join forces and take over the world. Stiles didn't realize how much he missed this, having Scott all to himself.

Sunday night, when the living room is quiet and Stiles is half asleep, he whispers into the dark, “You know I wouldn’t leave you, right?”

Scott curls up into his side, hiding his face in Stiles' shoulder. “Yeah. I know.” 

“I’m serious, Scotty. You and me against the world. Derek doesn’t change that.”

Scott's silence says he isn't convinced louder than his words ever could.

* * *

After his weekend with Scott, Stiles is somehow more keyed up than he was the previous week. His heart beats a speedy tattoo in his chest, scent shot through with anxiety.

Derek waits until a day he knows Scott is working to take the cat to the vet. Kira has threatened to move out if he “so much as thinks about getting rid of the floofy purring machine.”

Scott tells him the cat is definitely a boy, probably a year or two years old. “He’s neutered,” Scott says as the cat growls. “My best guess is he's a feral cat who's grown up around people or someone put him out, but I'll check for a microchip to make sure.” Scott rubs the cat behind the ears to keep him calm.

Derek blurts out, apropos of nothing, “Do you want to join my pack, Scott?”

Scott pauses, hand stilling in the cat’s fur. The cat meows his displeasure. “It’s a little late to be having second thoughts, don’t you think?” he asks, lips thin. 

“I’m not having second thoughts. You just… seem to be resistant to the idea.”

Scott shrugs, putting the scanner to the side and making a note in the cat’s chart in his abysmal handwriting. “He isn't chipped. And I go where Stiles goes.”

Derek sighs. “I’m not asking about Stiles. I’m asking about you. I’m not saying I don’t want you here,” he says before Scott can get started on the rant on the tip of his tongue. “But I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forced, either.”

Scott reaches for the cat without thinking, firm strokes from the tip of his nose to the base of his tail, over and over. The cat flops onto his side, eyes squinting shut with pleasure. “I’m just getting used to the idea of having a pack,” Scott says, after several minutes of heavy silence. “It’s something I always wanted, but it was just me and Stiles for so long - I need some time to adjust.”

Scott doesn’t look up, voice whisper-soft as he speaks to the cat rather than Derek. “So many packs have wanted Stiles, but they haven’t wanted me.”

Ah. _Now_ they’re getting to the crux of the issue. Derek shakes his head. “That’s their fault for being ignorant assholes.” 

Scott barks a laugh and looks up. “Your sister said something similar.”

“What?” Derek’s brow furrows; Cora and Scott could scarcely stand to be in a room together with other people present, nevermind alone. “When?”

Scott scratches the back of his neck. “After Madison sent Stiles home.”

Derek remembers the scent of Cora’s embarrassment as she told Derek she ran into Scott in the lobby that night. She never did explain. He shakes his head; a question for another time. “My mother taught all of us that omegas are just like anyone else. The ones who survive alone, without going feral - those are the wolves you want in the pack. You’re the strongest of us.”

Scott gives him a hesitant smile, leaking relief all over the floor. “Thanks.”

Derek slaps him on the shoulder, ignoring the cat’s angry yowl as he lifts him into the crate.

Cora’s waiting at the door with a wide grin when Derek gets back to the apartment. 

“Lydia finally coming, I take it?” Derek asks, bending down to let the cat out. They really need to find a name for the little monster, now that they’re keeping him.

The cat immediately winds around Cora’s feet. “She’ll be here tomorrow. Her roommate’s been in town a week already.” Cora bends down and sweeps the cat into her arms. “She wants us to come by for dinner over the weekend. Yes, you can bring Stiles, and I expect you to be nice.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m always nice,” he says, ignoring her laughter. 

The closer they get to the weekend, the more Cora reeks of nerves. Derek can’t bring himself to poke fun at her when she’s so clearly freaking out. Even Stiles keeps his jokes to himself, buying the “stupid expensive” bottle of Merlot Cora says is Lydia's favorite, in the hopes of putting himself in her good graces.

By the time Saturday night rolls around, Cora is vibrating out of her skin. She can barely stand still as they knock on the door to Lydia's apartment, foot tapping loudly against the tile floor.

The lock clicks, and the door opens, revealing a woman Derek recognizes from the multitude of photos texted to him by his sister. Her expressive green eyes observe everything with rapt attention, red hair curled artfully away from her face. The height of her heels makes Derek’s feet ache in sympathy.

Her face lights up when she sees Cora, and Cora smiles wide and carefree, the way Derek can’t remember anyone else making her smile since Laura died. That alone puts her in Derek’s favor.

“Hey,” Cora says, kissing her on the cheek. “How was your flight?”

“Tolerable,” Lydia says primly. Stiles snorts, drawing a glare from Cora and a raised eyebrow from Lydia.

Stiles waves. Cora rolls her eyes. “Lydia, this is my brother, Derek, and his boyfriend, Stiles.”

“Emissary,” Stiles corrects her, shaking Lydia’s hand. “And I come bearing booze.” He holds out the bottle of wine.

“Banshee.” Lydia’s sharp grin softens. “That’s my favorite wine.”

“I had no idea,” Stiles says, the wise-ass strong. Lydia throws an exasperated look Cora’s way. 

She shrugs. “Where’s Allison?” Cora asks, while Stiles and Derek shrug out of their coats, handing them to Lydia when she holds out her arms.

“Putting Laci in her crate.” She drapes their coats over the back of a chair.

“Her dog,” Cora clarifies, at Stiles and Derek’s confused looks. “She gets a little crazy around strangers.”

A door at the back of the apartment squeaks open then shuts again. “Sorry about that,” a familiar voice says, and Derek turns, surprised when the woman he almost ran over the other day walks into the room. “Laci wouldn’t settle down until I found her fuzzy...frog…”

Her voice trails off, brow furrowing when she sees Derek. Cora makes their introductions, and the confusion fades.

Derek reaches out to shake Allison’s hand. “We’ve met,” she says, and Cora raises an eyebrow. 

“I bumped into him on the street. Literally.” Allison grins at her own joke. 

Lydia’s brow rises to her hairline. “How serendipitous.” She throws her girlfriend an indecipherable look.

Cora grabs the bottle of wine from her hand, heart racing. “Wine anyone?”

Cora pours five glasses, toasting to friendships old and new. She keeps eying Derek like she’s expecting him to say something uncouth. He chalks it up to nerves and drops down onto the couch next to Allison, taking a sip of his wine, both of them content to sit and observe.

Meanwhile, Lydia and Stiles bond over a shared love of languages, cycling through Spanish, French, and Polish in quick succession in their quest to try to stump one another. Derek tunes out when they move on to Gaelic.

“I think Lydia found her soul mate,” Allison whispers, and Derek huffs a laugh, earning a pleased grin from his sister.

Things are going so well, it's almost inevitable that Stiles stands up and bumps straight into Allison, spilling wine all down the front of her shirt.

“Stiles!” Cora snaps, while Allison shakes out her free hand.

“Oh shit!” Stiles says, putting his glass down on the counter and grabbing a towel. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” she says, wiping at the front of her shirt. “I didn’t really like this shirt anyway.”

Allison puts down her own glass and slips out of her flannel, revealing a white t-shirt underneath, the front of which is also stained red. She turns to drape the soaked shirt over the back of a chair, giving Derek an unobstructed view of her bicep and the tattoo etched into her skin.

The sound of Stiles still apologizing fades to white noise.

He recognizes the family crest - the wolf snarling under a tribal sun, the fleur de lis on the arrows under its feet.

He’s seen the image once before - inked around the back of Kate Argent’s neck.

A growl builds in his throat. Allison’s eyes snap to his face. She follows his gaze to her arm and takes a step back, eyes wide.

“Derek, don’t!” Cora yells. 

Derek lunges, clawed fingers gripping for Allison’s neck. She ducks under his arm, elbow finding his ribs, but Derek grips her wrist, flinging her into the edge of the kitchen cabinets. She barely manages to catch herself on her hands.

A scream echoes through the apartment, shattering the glasses on the counter and sending Derek tumbling backward. Stiles flings out his hand, dropping a shield between him and Allison. The magic bites at Derek’s skin. Lydia’s screech rings in his ears.

She crouches over Allison, cupping the cut on her forearm. Blood drips sluggishly to the floor. 

“You need to leave,” Lydia says, eyes bright like fire. _“Now.”_

Derek snarls. He grabs his coat from the back of the chair, storming out of the apartment. Stiles drops the shield and follows, slamming the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://static3.depositphotos.com/1003381/160/i/950/depositphotos_1609911-stock-photo-orange-white-cat-portrait.jpg) is what I imagine the cat to look like, with light green eyes. [This](https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/b/catahoula-leopard-dog-21105632.jpg) is Allison's dog.
> 
> I do eventually plan on writing the scene between Cora and Scott in the lobby. It's going to be the first in my deleted scenes/outtakes series. If there's any extra scene in particular you would like to see, I am taking requests here and on my [tumblr.](http://jacyevans.tumblr.com)


End file.
